


promise not to wake me ('til it's morning)

by EmAndFandems



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27545728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmAndFandems/pseuds/EmAndFandems
Summary: Sometimes reality can't be compared to a dream.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 71
Collections: SOSH - Guess the Author #08 "dream"





	promise not to wake me ('til it's morning)

**Author's Note:**

> For the SOSH GTA prompt "dream." Title from Queen's "Dreamer's Ball." Posting date edited to post-reveals!

Crowley was dreaming.

He knew this because he was warm. Because he was safe. Because there was a gentle hand in his hair, holding him close, and a voice in his ear, murmuring sweet nothings. He knew this was a dream because it was a voice he recognized.

Crowley didn’t care if it wasn’t real. He leaned into the touch. It wasn’t the first time; it wouldn’t be the last. If he couldn’t have this waking, he’d take this, the desperation of unconsciousness and the half-guilty ease of accepting what he’d wanted for so long. It wouldn’t change anything when he woke up. It never did.

But in the meantime, Aziraphale was pressing brief kisses to the corner of his mouth, and Crowley allowed himself this. Another stolen, impossible moment. Another example of how self-deluded he was, even asleep. If he were more fully in control at the moment, he might have been angry with himself for telling such lies— lies most unbecoming of a demon. Demonic falsehoods were meant to confound the innocent and mislead the pure. Crowley hadn’t been either of those things in a very long time.

It didn’t matter, though. Nothing mattered when the lies he was spinning were so nice, so  _ good, _ all manner of horrible words he would never dare use aloud but which felt so right here. In the arms of an angel he could pretend loved him. Wrapped in comforting warmth and the tingle of a holy miracle, it was easier to act like he could ever deserve to have this.

_ Crowley, _ said a voice in the back of his mind, and he resisted. He wouldn’t wake up, not yet. He wasn’t done with tonight’s judgment lapse; he wasn’t through imagining what could never be.

_ Wake up, _ someone was saying, and shaking his shoulder. Crowley clung tighter to the dream of Aziraphale. He dug his fingers into soft shoulders, pressed his mouth to every bit of tempting skin, held fiercely to all of it, the stupid want filling his every inch. Waking up had never been less appealing.

But there was still a hand at his shoulder, and the owner was becoming quite insistent. Against his wishes, Crowley woke up. He squeezed his eyes closed and pretended (always pretending) he hadn’t.

“Crowley.”

“Mmmrggh.” The pillow he was hiding in smelled of vanillin, which explained the dream. He’d have to change his detergent if it was going to make him think of old books in his sleep.

“You ridiculous thing,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley could hear the smile in his voice, and he remembered.

_ Oh, _ he thought, as usual. It was all so new. So delightfully unfamiliar. If waking up was going to be like this every morning, Crowley hoped he’d never get used to it.

He rolled over. “Hi,” he said. Aziraphale beamed.

“Good morning, my love,” and oh, that was wonderful. “Should I not have woken you? You looked like you were having a marvelous dream.”

“Can’t compare, really,” said Crowley.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment?


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